Slip Slidin’ Away

I was listening to Paul Simon last night. You know, slip slidin away…

School already canceled, the boys plotted their morning sled runs.

One version had the oldest pulling covers over his face to delay the inevitable. Another version, the youngest dragging his brother to the hill behind our home under threat of a snowball to the kisser.

My version of sledding this morning is to avoid loose cars on the George Washington Parkway. Snowy morning, sliding cars, steep Potomac gorge to the left.

We work our jobs, Collect our pay, Believe we’re gliding down the highway, When in fact were slip slidin’ away.

The boys will spend the day sledding. Used to be something we did together after clearing the neighborhood snow. I’d pull them around the streets through ice and slush and foot-high piles. 

The downhill run straight into a brick wall, calling from the summit, “Bail! Bail! Bail!”

What four year old knows the word? The kid survived. The memory lives on.

I’ll make the slippery journey into DC, spend the day shucking paper, jot aspirationally objective numbers on a page. Drive home.

Sometimes it feels like it’s all just slip-sliding-away. You know: the nearer your destination, The more you’re slip slidin’ away.

 

##